


The Highly Worrisome Mating Rituals of Idiotic Alpha Werewolves

by Whisper132



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-17
Updated: 2013-02-02
Packaged: 2017-11-21 09:00:07
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 18,360
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/595898
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Whisper132/pseuds/Whisper132
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>An AU story in which Derek tries to be responsible, Stiles tries to stay sane, and Peter mocks them both.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

There was a lot about Stiles' life that had changed since Scott became a werewolf. Most notably, he spent a lot more evenings in fear for his life and/or pissed off because Scott had ditched him to go suck Allison's face. He couldn't really blame the guy, only he kind of did because everything wrong in Stiles' life was Scott's fault. Everything.

It was Scott's fault that Stiles' body was littered with scrapes and bruises. It was Scott's fault Stiles had to lie to his father on a daily basis, a situation which gave Stiles a constant case of indigestion. It was Scott's fault Stiles was getting a double dose of scorn at school because half the lacrosse team thought Scott was the Second Coming with a Stick, and the other half thought he was doping and were determined to prove it by shoving Stiles into lockers, walls, and any other solid objects that happened to be close by until he told them Scott's secret.

"This movie is stupid."

It was also Scott's fault that Stiles was sitting next to Derek on the sofa, watching another B-rated werewolf flick so Derek could point out the inaccuracies in Stiles' werewolf head canon. It was likewise Scott's fault that Stiles was so starved for a non-sucky friend that he didn't mind the abnormally warm arm wrapped around his shoulders. 

On the screen, the werewolf ripped a shrieking girl in half. Derek grimaced. "Fake."

"Please tell me you're not comparing this to a real life girl-ripping experience."

"The guts would spill out."

"Nice circumnavigating of a very serious question." Stiles paused the video. "Have you or have you not ripped someone in two?"

"It was a deer," Derek said with a hint of laughter. "A small one," he added when Stiles' mouth gaped open. He moved the arm curled around Stiles' shoulders to tap Stiles' mouth closed.

"Should I mention that the anatomy of a deer and a human are—"

"There would be guts," Derek insisted. Stiles decided to trust Derek's opinion on the matter and restarted the film. "How'd you do on that report?" Derek asked while, on screen, the camera closed in on the dead chick's face.

"I got a B because I forgot the stupid works cited section." Stiles shifted a little closer until he was able to twist and mold his chest along the blazing line of Derek's side. "Scott got a D. That's what he gets for last minute work." Nevermind that Stiles' effort was also last minute; he had the bonus of Derek as a somewhat unwilling and only mildly functional proofreader. Scott probably didn't even run a spellcheck.

"Are you watching this?"

"Sure," Stiles said, his forehead resting in the crook of Derek's shoulder. "My eyes are just tired so I'm taking a break."

Derek sighed. He was probably rolling his eyes, too. He didn't say anything, though, so Stiles remained where he was until the dramatic synthesizer music of the film faded and sleep took him.

*******

"Where were you last night? I called, like, four times." Scott leaned against the locker beside Stiles'. "Allison was doing something with Lydia, so I thought we could hang out."

"Must've left it on silent." Actually, Stiles _knew_ it was on silent. Derek said Stiles' ringtones were annoying and he'd smash the phone if he ever heard them again. Stiles refused all of Derek's suggestions for replacements, so when Derek was over, the phone went on silent. It had nothing to do with the small bubble of an idea that things interrupting Stiles' werewolf educational time were unacceptable.

"What're you doing tonight? I'm thinking pizza at my place after work."

Stiles averted his gaze. "I, uh, have some plans, but I think I can cancel." He was going to go over to Derek's and learn a bit of herb lore, but he could do that any time. They hadn't really even made formal plans; they'd just talked about it in general before Derek headed home the night before. He'd send Derek a text and make a date—an appointment for the lessons. Thursday or Friday would be good. If he went over on Friday, they could also stream something on Netflix for Derek to scoff at.

"What's so funny?"

"Know that movie _Blue Blood Moon_? Turns out it's totally fake."

"How do you know?"

Stiles closed his locker and poked a finger into Scott's chest. "I know because I've been doing my research." He tapped Scott's temple. "One of us needs to understand what's going on with you."

Scott sniffed. "Where're you learning this stuff?"

Stiles grinned. "The internet, of course." It was sort of true. He found stuff on the internet then Derek told him how wrong it was—except for the part about werewolves liking casual physical contact. Derek said it was a pack building thing.

"You don't need to research anything. I've got everything under control."

"This is where, if I were one of you guys, I'd strike a dramatic pose and tell you about your heart rate and smell and stuff giving away that you're lying." Stiles held up a hand to stop Scott's objection. "But, being a lowly human, I'll just rely on years of friendship to let me know when you're full of it." He paused and looped an arm around Scott's back, pulling him toward the cafeteria. "You're completely full of it, by the way. Near to bursting with it."

"Stiles…"

"You're paying for the pizza."

Scott laughed and put his hand on Stiles' back in mirror to Stiles' hand on his. A part of Stiles was happy to know Derek wasn't talking crap when he said werewolves needed to touch more than humans did. Another part was creepily bummed about it.

****

"Where do you wash your clothes?"

"What?" Derek paused in eating a rice krispy treat that Stiles had made.

"You live in a charcoal briquette. Where do you do the laundry?" It hadn't escaped Stiles' notice that Derek had a limited clothing selection but, despite that, the werewolf always smelled clean. Pine fresh, even.

"I go to the laundry mat. Did you think I used magic?" Derek reached for another treat and Stiles smacked his hand away.

"The rest are for dad," Stiles explained to Derek's snarl.

"Make more."

"You want more, you can get your ass to the grocery store and buy the stuff to make them. I'm not your slave." There was a patch of marshmallow fluff at the corner of Derek's mouth, and Stiles was having a hard time looking away from it. Derek didn't seem to know it was there.

"Nevermind." Derek pushed away from the table. "Let's go watch something."

Damn, it was going to bug Stiles all night if he didn't do something about that smudge of sugar. "Wait," Stiles sighed. He licked his thumb then ran it over the sticky patch next to Derek's lip.

The growl and the glowing eyes were always a sign to get the hell away. Stiles did not ignore them.

"It's fine," Derek said through pointy, gritted teeth. "Ignore it."

"Yeah, ignore it," Stiles laughed. His mouth was dry and tasted like he'd stuffed it full of toilet paper. "Easy for the guy with claws to say." He backed away slowly.

"Don't run. Stay."

"Yeah, also not happening." Stiles moved a few more steps back.

"Idiot," Derek snarled as he leapt into the air. If Stiles weren't afraid for his life, he would've found it really impressive. He'd always been a bit envious of the smooth way Derek moved.

Derek landed atop Stiles, toppling him to the ground. "Do I get a phone call or something before you eat me?" Stiles asked, barely getting the words out around his rapid breathing. 

A clawed hand took hold of his chin. "No."

Stiles expected to have his viscera removed in a painful way. He expected to be screaming while his lifeblood flowed out of the holes rent in his flesh. He also expected Derek might snack on his pancreas while his life was flashing before his eyes.

That did not happen.

When asked why he was never going to eat rice krispy treats again, Stiles would say it was because it reminded him of a near death experience where a wild beast hunted him down in his own home. He'd leave out the part where the beast sucked down his tongue and slid razor sharp claws under his shirt, scraping gently up and down his sides. He would not mention that his hands somehow got tangled up in the beast's hair, and he would die (for real) before telling anyone (even himself in a mental instant replay in the shower, which was totally going to happen…against his will) about the small noise he made when the beast finally crawled back with a curse.

"Okay," Stiles gasped once space and time had realigned themselves. "That was better than dying in a hideous, bloody way." A lot better. Also much, much worse. "Should we talk about this?"

"No."

"Oh thank god." Stiles managed, with a bit of effort, to get himself in a sitting position. "Let's watch Star Wars. I need Star Wars. Badly."

Derek rose and followed without comment. In the living room, Stiles grabbed the DVD and put it in the player. They assumed their usual positions at the center of the sofa. There was a deep silence while the DVD loaded, skipped a bit, then the player flashed an error message.

Stiles punched the sofa then got up to fix it. "That was another pack thing, right?" he asked once the DVD was cleaned and the title screen was rolling. So much for ignoring the inevitably awkward conversation. One day his curiosity really _would_ kill him.

Derek remained silent.

"Just say yes so I don't have a heart attack." Stiles turned to glare and found Derek staring intently at the TV. "Please tell me you've seen Star Wars before."

Again, silence.

"Seriously? Never? Did you spend all your time hunting deer or something? How could you miss Star Wars? It's on practically every weekend." Stiles curled an arm around Derek's bicep and rested his head on Derek's shoulder before he realized he shouldn't. If he concentrated, he could make out a faint trace of fabric softener beneath the smell of the forest that always seemed to blanket Derek. "I don't think dad'll mind if you do your laundry here. You can save your cash to pay for the therapy I'll need because of your weird werewolf rituals."

"That wasn't a pack thing," Derek said as the dual suns rose over Tatooine. Stiles felt Derek's muscles tense and relax as though he were debating a hasty retreat.

"So that was…just you?"

Derek turned and his eyes flashed from man to wolf and back. "Not just me," he said.

Stiles took a deep breath. "You and a special guest? Honestly, this isn't the time for magical metaphors. In case you haven't noticed, I'm five seconds away from a panic attack here."

Derek stood up. "I should go."

Stiles was unable to close his mouth until the front door slammed shut and his muscles obeyed him again. "Oh, fuck my life," he told Uncle Owen. 

*****

"Oh my god," Stiles told his reflection in the bathroom. "I'm turning into Scott." For three days, all he'd been able to think about was Derek. Granted, some of that time was spent reminding himself that Derek had once ripped a deer in two (possibly a human, too) and might actually be a psycho killer masquerading as a really hot, somewhat snarky werewolf who did his laundry at the laundry mat and kissed the hell out of poor, confused human boys who really just wanted to graduate with their sanity intact and maybe score a few during a lacrosse game.

Be normal.

It was Stiles' new mantra. He'd be damned if he'd let Scott find out what happened, though his friend was giving him looks like he already knew and was waiting for Stiles to spill. That would never happen. Never. As soon as Stiles saw Derek again, he'd give the guy a piece of his mind and then swear him to secrecy so life could get back on track. Derek could come over again, Stiles could feed him human food instead of whatever he ate when there wasn't someone around to take care of him, and Stiles could have someone nearby who listened to him talk and didn't go on and on about his girlfriend every four minutes. 

"I did not just think about shoving my tongue down his mouth." Stiles stared at himself in horror, knowing that he _had_ thought about it, and that part of him was hurting, actually aching deep in his muscles, to be near that confusing bastard again.

School. He had to go to school. He had tests to take and ridicule to swallow down. He didn't have time to pine…oh god, he was pining, wasn't he? Pining for Derek Hale and his big, muscly arms and stupidly soft lips and that dumb quirk in his smile when was about to shoot down something Stiles had held as werewolf gospel.

"No," he told his reflection "No." 

Be normal. Stay normal. Good.


	2. Chapter 2

Derek's life was slowly going to shit. He'd been progressing well with Stiles, easing him toward a level of comfort, and then…

"Aagh!" 

"What did the lamp ever do to you?" Peter quipped, picking up the mangled remains of what had been a family heirloom, though singed, before Derek threw it at the wall. "Just because you're having a fight with the misses, it's no reason to take it out on the furniture." Peter looked around the room. "Such as it is. When are you going to redecorate? I was thinking of having some people over."

"Go away." Derek had been doing the smart thing and staying away from Stiles. Unfortunately, staying away from Stiles meant sequestering himself at home because Stiles was a busybody and prone to show up anywhere in town. 

"You know, it would be a lot easier on all of us spectators if you'd just get on with things." Peter tucked a finger under Derek's chin and forced his nephew to look him in the eye. "I'll admit it was cute watching the two of you, but enough is enough, don't you think?"

Derek pulled away. "This has nothing to do with you."

"It's been three days already. It's starting to hurt, isn't it?" Peter's voice was a song, dancing along Derek's turned back and kicking him in the ass. "Imagine how it'll feel after a week. Do you think his little human body will be able to take it?" Peter's shoes fell heavy on the floor as he stepped up to Derek again. "Or are you still deluding yourself into thinking you have a choice? Are you thinking you'll save him by ignoring the big, bad truth and it'll all go away?" 

"Shut. Up. I won't say it again." Even as he said it, Derek knew Peter wouldn't obey. He also knew Peter's silence wouldn't make his words any less true.

"I tell you what I'll do," Peter said, pulling Derek to him in a half-hug. "I'll go talk to some people about getting this place spruced up a bit. It's suitable for you, but you can't expect a human to live in this."

"He's not—" Peter's grin cut Derek's objection.

"What did you plan to do? Keep sneaking into his bedroom? Certainly that has an air of romance, but it gets old quickly. And what if his father finds out?" 

A solid, frozen feeling settled in Derek's gut. Stiles' father…the sheriff…Derek might as well skin himself now if he thought he was going to just waltz up and take Stiles. 

Peter knocked his fingers against Derek's head. "Dirty thoughts come after you pick up the misses from school. Take him somewhere normal and public so it won't scare him away." He patted Derek on the back. "There's a good boy. Now, go make yourself pretty for my new nephew-in-law."

Derek didn't try to argue. Instead, he went off for a shower before heading to the school.

*****

Derek knew nothing about lacrosse, but he _did_ know that the school would need a new coach soon if the guy didn't stop screaming at Stiles' face. Derek could hear the acceleration in Stiles' heart rate from his hiding place beyond the field.

"I know you're here, Derek. What do you want?"

Scott. Fantastic. "It's got nothing to do with you." 

"Leave Stiles alone. You don't think I know what you're doing?"

Derek doubted Scott knew anything he was doing or wanted to do with Stiles. And, even if Scott knew, there was nothing he could do to stop Derek. There was nothing anyone, not even Derek, could do to stop the events his stupidity had set in motion.

"I'm serious, Derek. Leave him alone."

Derek's lip curled up. "Are you challenging me?" 

"What? No!"

Derek tried to calm himself down but couldn't. He knew he was already half gone. "Don't tell me what I can and cannot do with what's mine." A growl escaped his mouth, too low for human ears, but clear to any wolf listening. It said, better than human speech ever could, that the alpha had spoken, and his word was law.

Needing some time to compose himself, Derek slipped away to wait inside Stiles' Jeep.

******

"How did you get into the car when I locked it?" Stiles was yelling at Derek through the closed car door.

Derek pointed to the back hatch. "Get in," he said, unlocking the driver-side door and opening it. "We're going to your place."

Stiles threw his backpack onto the back seat but didn't get in. "Listen."

"Not now. Your place." Derek didn't actually plan on explaining anything, but if he told Stiles that, they'd have an argument in the school parking lot, Scott would hear, and things would become complicated. Derek would have to shut people up, possibly with the use of force, and then he'd go to jail. It would be difficult enough convincing Stiles' father to entrust his son to Derek; he didn't need murder charges getting in the way.

"I'm really pissed off at you," Stiles said, even as he got into the car and put on his seatbelt. He waited, petulantly, for Derek to belt up as well. 

Once he was buckled in, Derek reached over and placed his hand atop Stiles' on the gear shift. A scattered, angry part of himself soothed and his mind was at peace for the first time in days. "Your place. I want to watch Star Wars." Not exactly what he'd planned to say, but a nice, safe option.

"I'm ordering Chinese and you're paying."

"Fine."

"And we've got to get something for Dad and run it to him. He's working late again tonight—"

"And he needs something to eat with his medicine. Drive by the deli on the way to your place." Derek caught Stiles' smile out of the corner of his eye. It was gone before he could fully turn his head. "Sorry," Derek managed quietly.

One finger left the gear shift and curled momentarily around Derek's. "Your stupid werewolf ass doesn't know how to interact with humans. I get it." Stiles turned down the main road toward the deli they'd sometimes lunched at. "And I'd like to remind you that my dad carries a gun and can legally shoot you."

Derek's laughter didn't subside until they were parked in front of Franko's Deli and Stiles beat him a few times with the keys.

*****

"If ever there were a moment, this would be it."

Derek flinched as Peter's words snaked into his ear. He couldn't see his uncle, but just knowing he was nearby was enough to turn his gut cold. And, what was worse, he couldn't make a reply because Stiles was happily curled around his torso and, if Derek had to choose, he'd pick dealing with his uncle's idiotic chatter over dislodging Stiles every single time.

"What's wrong?" Stiles looked up and his chin dug into Derek's chest. "And don't say it's nothing," he warned when Derek opened his mouth to say just that.

"Tell your young man I say hello and welcome to the family."

"He's here." Derek saw comprehension dawn on Stiles' face. He held on a bit tighter to Stiles' shoulder when he felt him start to move away. "Just ignore him."

"I'm a master at ignoring things I can't see or hear. _You're_ the one who needs to work on ignoring things." Stiles pulled the blanket covering him a bit higher. "Why does he know where I live?"

"Small town," Derek said. He bent down and tucked the blanket over Stiles' exposed toes. He pretended to accidentally trail his hand up Stiles' leg because he'd been very good in the past week to keep from initiating any unwanted touching, and the effort was driving him a bit insane.

"What's he telling you?" Stiles reached for the remote and paused the mockery of a film they were half watching. "And don't say nothing."

If Derek couldn't say nothing, and he couldn't say the truth, he'd just keep his mouth shut. Sooner or later, the silence would get on Stiles' nerves and they'd resume their film, forgetting the entire ordeal.

"Derek, seriously. What's he saying?" Stiles stood on his knees on the sofa. He pounded a fist on Derek's shoulder. "Is it something horribly dangerous that's going to get us all killed? Am I going to have to save your ass again?"

Derek stared resolutely at the paused television. He breathed in, winced because Stiles was far too close at the moment, then exhaled. 

"You should answer the boy, Derek."

"Shut up," Derek growled.

"Excuse me? Oh, you're not talking to me, are you?" Stiles straddled Derek's lap and flopped down. "What's he saying?"

He could hear the rapid beating of Stiles' heart. He could smell the nervous sweat sliding down his back. He could almost taste the apprehension and the excitement mixing together, ready to explode if only Derek would give it a reason to… 

"Stiles. Get up." He dare not move the boy himself or he'd do something stupid, something he refused to do knowing his uncle was watching. "The movie."

Stiles' lips were parted and he was panting. "This feeling is really…not normal," Stiles said, swaying where he sat. "Is this more of your freakish werewolf stuff?"

"If you watch this, I'll kill you," Derek whispered to his uncle before pulling Stiles to him and sealing their lips together. The feeling of contentment and peace that washed over him was amazing; so amazing that he sat on the sofa, clinging to Stiles long after the biochemical pull inside him had released its hold on his brain.

"We really need to talk this time," Stiles said once they'd parted and he'd moved off Derek's lap. "Talking. Without the running out. And no spectators."

Derek stretched his senses and couldn't find a trace of his uncle. It was good to know the crazy old man still held some things sacred.


	3. Chapter 3

"So, Dad, remember when I was little and wanted to be the king of roller derby, and you said you'd support me no matter how strange and illogical my choices were? Does that deal still apply?" 

"You wanted to be in roller derby?" 

Stiles kicked Derek's foot off his desk. "Shut up. We're supposed to be roleplaying the situation out so I can avoid getting disowned and you can avoid getting arrested." Mostly it was because Stiles knew he was going to choke up at some point, overwhelmed with the ridiculousness of it all. He, Stiles St. Normal, was metaphysically tethered to Derek First Suspect in Every Murder Case Hale. If he hadn't felt the gut-twisting nausea for himself, he would have called Derek a liar and kicked him in the crotch. Sure, he would only live as long as it took Derek to recover, but the burn of justice would be enough to cushion his plummet into the afterlife.

"He can't arrest me. I didn't do anything." 

"What're you smiling at?" Wait, Stiles knew that smile. He'd seen it on Scott often enough. "Oh, god. You're thinking about sex, aren't you?" And if Derek was thinking of sex, he was probably thinking of sex with Stiles, and that was just a little too much for Stiles' brain to handle at the moment. "No!" He shook an admonishing finger at his…his…his whatever. "We discussed this, and the only way I'm going to go along with this is if we take it so slow that glaciers lap us."

"You think I want this? I didn't choose you, you know." Derek's gaze moved around the room. "It could be worse, though." Derek spun in Stiles' office chair and pulled Stiles onto his lap.

"You're going to compromise the structural integrity of my chair." Even while complaining, the ire inside him was starting to melt away into a nice, peaceful haze, all of his anger soothed away by the heat of Derek's hand rubbing at his shoulder. "You're using your werewolf voodoo again, aren't you?"

"I'm not doing anything. Stop bitching and relax." 

The problem was that Stiles was far too relaxed. Everything felt far too comfortable and easy when he just gave into Derek's pace and played along. Sure, he could scream and shout about his metaphysical autonomy and how fate was dragging him into some weird homo relationship with a werewolf but, on the other hand, Derek actually seemed like he _wanted_ Stiles, and that was something new. It was nice to have someone want him. It was also nice not to be staring dopey-eyed at the impossible. He could stare dopey-eyed at the concretely possible hot guy who looked about ready to eat him alive.

"This is making me a little uncomfortable," Stiles whispered, his eyes still focused on Derek's mouth.

Derek stiffened and urged Stiles off his lap before backing away to the other end of the room. "What's wrong?"

"Do we need to have this conversation from opposite sides of the room?"

Derek's eyes moved from Stiles to the door and back. "Yes."

"Okay." If Derek was going to allow Stiles his freak-out moments, then Stiles would allow Derek his. "Your hand was on my ass."

"You were going to fall."

"You were digging in."

"I was not."

Stiles could wait out Derek's pouting all night if he had to. In fact, waiting for Derek to admit he was an ass-grabbing perv was preferable to sitting down to dinner with his dad and introducing Derek to him as his boyfriend. 

"You don't have to tell him if you don't want to," Derek said. He sat back down in the desk chair but made no move to get any closer. "I just thought you might like him to know. No more secrets."

And that had been the deal maker for Stiles. The moment Derek said he was okay with Stiles' father knowing everything was the moment Stiles knew Derek wasn't playing some weirdass mind game on him. He didn't really think that kind of thing was Derek's deal—it was more Peter's territory—but you could never be too careful.

"Stiles?"

The little part of him that queased up whenever he'd been away from Derek too long twisted and seemed to take over his body, moving him back onto Derek's lap. "Let's go over the plan," Stiles said, not giving in to the urge to rest his head on Derek's shoulder and take a little nap. "First, we pretend like we're dating. After he gets used to the idea, we let him know about the werewolf stuff. After he's used to _that_ , we tell him about the other werewolf stuff."

"The part where our souls are going to twist together for eternity?" Derek whispered into his ear.

"No. The part where I'm stuck dealing with your furry ass for the rest of my life because I must have been a baby killer in a past life and this is my punishment."

"It could have been Scott."

"Don't even joke like that." Stiles shivered at the thought. "And, while we're on the subject, does he know? You know, about the thing?"

Derek shrugged. "Maybe."

"Maybe?"

"Maybe."

******

"Sheriff Stilinski." 

Stiles watched Derek shake his father's hand before they sat down around the table.

"Stiles. I didn't know you and Derek were acquainted."

He could tell from the tight smile that his dad was waiting for some kind of bad news. "Look, I'm not being blackmailed and we're not harboring a fugitive or anything. You could never pin any of those murders on Derek and—"

"Stiles!" Derek barked. The dining room fell quiet. Derek buried his face in his hands.

"Let's try this again," the sheriff said. "This dinner looks great."

"Of course it does. We drove to three different grocery stores to get the stuff, and Derek had a really great family recipe for the chicken." Stiles heaped some food onto his father's plate. "Tough day at work?"

"Boring, thankfully. We've had enough excitement to last us a few years." 

Stiles didn't miss the look his father sent to Derek. Under the table, Stiles tapped Derek's foot with his, hoping it would urge the werewolf to jump into the conversation. All it did was make Derek look at him expectantly. "So. Dad. This is Derek."

"I know," Mr. Stilinski said. He raised his fork to his mouth, paused, then put it down again. "What is it?"

"What's what?"

"Stiles," Mr. Stilinski warned. "You're buttering me up. What do you want?"

"Maybe you should finish eating first," Stiles urged. "Derek! What's new?"

Derek raised his face from his contemplation of his plate. There was a bit of chicken dangling from the corner of his mouth. 

"Stiles," Mr. Stilinski sighed. "Just tell me. I'm pretty sure I already know anyway."

"You can't possibly know this, Dad. There's no way you could know this." If his dad knew about werewolves and mystical werewolf bonds, then all of the unsolved mysteries would have been solved years ago.

"Derek."

Derek started at the sheriff's call. "Yes…sir?" It was kinda cute how awkward Derek was. He'd have to come over for dinner more often.

"You do understand that my son is still a minor?" 

Derek went pale. "Stiles," he hissed. "Talk."

"Okay!" Stiles leapt up from his chair and waved his hands around. "You've got it all wrong, Dad."

"You're not dating him?"

Stiles sat back down. "Okay, so maybe you've got it a bit right, but…hey, wait. Was that the thing you thought you knew? You thought I was gay? How could you think I was gay? Was I giving off a vibe? I'm completely masculine!" 

Derek's snort was not appreciated. "Stiles. Concentrate," Derek said when Stiles opened his mouth to tell Derek where he could shove his snarky alpha attitude. 

"His clothes were in the dryer three times last week, son." Sheriff Stilinski twirled his fork around his fingers. "And, I will repeat, you're still a minor." The twirling stopped, the tines sighted at Derek's head. "There's a lot of room in our jail, Mr. Hale. A loooot of room."

Derek cleared his throat. "I understand there are…circumstances," he said, just as they'd practiced. "I think it's important to wait until the appropriate time to..." Stiles caught Derek looking at his palm. "…express our relationship in a physical way."

"Stiles write that, son?"

"Yes, sir."

"If you have sex with him, I'll throw your ass in prison."

"Understood, sir."

"Good. Well then, let's dig in. This chicken smells great. A family recipe did you say, Derek?" 

And, just like that, the matter was closed. Stiles was relieved that his dad wasn't making a big deal, though he hadn't really expected him to. It would have been nice if he'd acted just a little bit more surprised, though.


	4. Chapter 4

"All the pouting in the world isn't going to bring your boy home any faster," Peter said, fussing with Derek's hair and earning him a sock to the arm. "Perhaps you could take this opportunity to meditate upon how virtuous you've been in your chaste ways and apply all that frustrated energy into something more worthwhile. You might find that building up your pack instead of moping around this ashtray will improve your mood significantly." Peter straightened out the bit of fabric that Derek's punch had disturbed. "If you'd like some suggestions, I have a small list."

"The same list Scott came from? No thanks." Scott was the root of all of Derek's current ire. Not only had Scott refused to formally join Derek's pack, the fool and his girlfriend were currently separated, meaning Scott kept dragging Stiles out, away from Derek. The few times a week he could meet up with Stiles, the boy had homework to do or projects to work on. Their brief contact was barely enough to sate the demands of their bond and keep them both from falling over from the pain of their separation. 

"I would like to remind you that, had I not turned Scott, you wouldn't have come into contact with your little bundle of sarcasm. You should be thanking me, not whining." One day, Derek would knock that grin right off Peter's face. He might even knock the entire head off.

"I have my own list," Derek said. 

"I'm sure it'll be sufficiently disappointing," Peter sighed before showing himself out. 

*******

Derek was not stalking Stiles; he was investigating the students at the school and looking for possible additions to his pack. The resilience of teenagers when undergoing the change made them prime pickings, and they were impressionable enough that convincing them to agree wouldn't be a problem—and it was important that they agree or Stiles would find out, get upset, and make Derek's life hell.

And maybe he was at Stiles' school because he liked knowing that Stiles was close by in case of an emergency. And Derek would grudgingly admit (to himself and _only_ himself) that finding people Stiles knew would make the pack seem like a more welcoming environment, and his overarching goal, beyond building his own power base, was to establish an environment that Stiles would find appealing.

Additionally, if Stiles was comfortable and safe, he would be more likely to put out, and that would go a long way in calming the urge Derek had to rip into the gut of anyone who so much as smiled at Stiles.

"So, is it normal that I knew you were hiding in here before I even opened the door?" Stiles asked, quietly closing the door to the French classroom Derek was using as his base for the day. "And is it also normal that I got that throw up feeling from the other side of campus? Nausea is a really lame wolf-detector. Can't we just have telepathy or something?"

Derek walked over to the large teacher's desk and sat on it, beckoning Stiles to him. "Telepathy doesn't exist."

"Yeah, it's right on the impossibility list next to vampires and werewolves, right?" Stiles gave the door one last look before walking toward Derek. "There aren't vampires, right?"

Derek shrugged. "I've never met one." He didn't particularly think there were, but his grandmother had told stories that had been passed down from their ancestors, and werewolves learned to respect the old tales, even if they seemed a bit fanciful. The Hale line hadn't had a true bonded pair in over ten generations, and they'd begun to think them a myth.

"You're not saying no," Derek's myth grumbled. "I wanted you to say no, maybe laugh a bit."

The bell rang.

"What class are you missing?" Derek asked. He reached forward to bring Stiles through the last foot that separated them when the boy took too long to do it himself.

"Science." Stiles grimaced. "Am I gonna want to throw up every time you're not around?"

"It'll go away eventually." Derek shrugged to hide his lie. The separation sickness wouldn't go away until they'd finalized their pairing, and Derek couldn't do that until he'd created a stable environment…and Stiles was older. "You'll just have to stay close to me until then," he whispered, nipping at Stiles' ear. 

"I think I'll try Dramamine instead. I can't exactly bring you to school every day." Stiles pulled back. "Why are you here?" He poked Derek in the chest. "And don't say it's to see me."

"What if that's the reason?"

"Is it?"

"No."

"Aha! I knew it!" Stiles looped his arms around Derek's neck. "So, why're you here?"

Derek momentarily ignored Stiles' question in favor of listening to the slow, relaxed beating of Stiles' heart. Not too long ago, that rhythm picked up every time Derek was near, beating fast in fear. Now, the rhythm was strong and steady, and Stiles' scent was nothing more than his usual, no nervous sweat mixing with the cheap cologne Stiles had on. That cologne was one habit Derek would have to break Stiles of; the musky scent made Derek's nose sting with its strength.

Stiles knocked on the back of Derek's head. "Hello? Anyone home? I asked you a question."

"You're pushy now that you know I won't kill you." 

"Amazing what a bit of security does to a guy, I know, but you're avoiding my question, which means you're here to do something immoral and devious."

Oh, Derek had a few immoral and devious things he could do. He could start by—

"You're thinking of sex again, aren't you?" 

Derek grinned. "Are you sure that's not you?" The increase in Stiles' heart rate sure seemed to hint to it. "The reason I came," Derek began so he could give his mouth something to do other than suck down Stiles' tongue, "was to look for candidates."

"Candidates?"

"For the pack." The words 'our pack' were on the tip of Derek's tongue, but he swallowed them down. No matter what he hoped for, what his instincts were saying, he couldn't force Stiles into the politics of his future pack. Stiles was human; he deserved to stay as human as he wished to be.

"And you think the idiots here should be given superhuman strength and the ability to crush others without breaking a sweat? Real smart there." 

"Teenagers have a higher rate for—"

"—surviving the bite. I know." Stiles rolled his eyes. "That doesn't mean you should just come on in and bite up a few new pack mates. Do you even have an interview process?"

"You don't interview—"

"Stop thinking like your lameass uncle." Stiles softened the insult by rubbing his fingers along Derek's neck, effectively destroying any chance Derek had of doing anything but trying not to pin Stiles to the desk. "Just tell me what kind of people you want and I'll find them. If I leave it to you, you'll pick people that'll piss me off."

Derek's fingers were curled tightly around the edge of the desk. "Fine," he said. "You should go to class now."

Stiles laughed and continued to tickle the back of Derek's neck. "Yeah, that's not happening." He leaned forward and, brushing his lips against Derek's ear, said, "Got any better ideas?"

Derek did.

******

"It's so wonderful to finally meet you, Sheriff Stilinski. I've heard all about you from Derek." Peter smiled across the table at Stiles' father as though Derek wasn't glaring murder at him for crashing their dinner plans.

"I'm afraid Stiles hasn't mentioned you." The sheriff smiled awkwardly and looked to his son. "Stiles, why don't you go get some more beers from the fridge?"

"Yeah…sure. Derek can help me. _Can't you,_ Derek?" 

Derek nodded and silently followed Stiles into the kitchen. "Before you ask, no, I didn't invite him. He was waiting at the door for me."

"Is creepy stalkerhood a werewolf thing or just a Hale family thing?" Stiles pointed toward the dining room. "He can hear me, right?"

"The way you're shouting, anyone who isn't deaf can hear you."

"Good, because Peter needs to know that if he even so much as hints at your…wolfiness…I will make his life a living hell. And don't think I can't do it!" Stiles pulled open the fridge and took out two beers. 

"I'm sure he got the message." Derek ran his thumb over Stiles' cheek. It was meant to be an innocent, comforting gesture, but Stiles' small intake of breath ruined everything and Derek found himself moving forward. The cold beers pressed into his chest, moistening his t-shirt.

"Boys! The beers will get warm if you don't hurry!" Peter called out, startling Stiles back moments after his lips touched Derek's.

"A living hell," Stiles repeated before pushing through into the dining room and handing the beers over to his father and Peter. 

"I don't know about you," Peter said to Mr. Stilinski, "but I was a little concerned when I found out Derek had formed such a bond with a boy Stiles' age. But, after meeting him, I can say that Stiles is surprisingly mature for his age." Peter turned and smiled at Stiles. "He'll make a wonderful addition to our little family when the time comes."

The sheriff choked on his beer. "I…don't think they're quite at that stage yet. Isn't that right, Derek?"

"Dad," Stiles warned. "We talked about this. I'm not a kid, and Derek and I aren't doing anything to be ashamed of so lay off, okay?"

Derek found his plate of lasagna fascinating. All he could think about was how marvelous Stiles had looked splayed across the French room's desk, his chest rising and falling quickly as he tried to catch breaths between their long, deep devouring of one another. True, they were both clothed and he had gone no further down than Stiles' collarbone, but you wouldn't have been able to tell listening to the squeaks and groans that fell from Stiles' mouth.

"Derek! Back me up here!"

Snapping his gaze back up, Derek looked to Stiles. "What?"

"This lasagna looks wonderful, Stiles. Did you make it?" Peter asked, rescuing Derek for…some reason. "Derek's impossible in the kitchen. When he was a little thing, he tried to make some brownies for his sister's birthday. Somehow they turned out so hard the knife snapped in two when he tried to cut them."

Mr. Stilinski chuckled and set down his empty beer can. "Stiles caught a pan of water on fire once when he was trying to make stovetop ramen."

"No! Nonono! We are not starting in on the baby stories." Stiles waved his hands around as if to banish the conversation. 

"And then," Mr. Stilinski continued, "there was the time he dressed up as Superman for Halloween."

"That has nothing to do with cooking," Stiles said. "We don't have to talk about that!"

"Halfway through the night the seam in his supertights ripped."

"Dad!"

"Fortunately he had his superundies on underneath so everything matched."

"Fascinating," Peter chuckled. 

"I have pictures," Sheriff Stilinski said. "Let me go get them."

Derek watched the sheriff run toward the stairs and smiled. "Superman?" he asked Stiles.

"If I may say, Derek, you might want to be careful with what you say. A lifetime of domestic bliss is on the line." Peter grinned at Stiles. "Wouldn't want to start things off on the wrong foot, would we?"

Stiles opened and closed his mouth. He said something, but Derek couldn't quite get beyond the way the corners of his lips stuck together as he spoke. Whatever he said, his mouth turned up in a smile afterwards. 

"Glad to be of assistance," Peter said. "And I would like to add that keeping it from him isn't going to do you any favors. Is it, Derek?"

Derek shook his head to clear it, briefly, of Stiles. "What?"

"Stiles and I were discussing the benefits of informing his father of your…condition."

"What condition?" Mr. Stilinski asked, sitting down in his chair and putting a photo album on the table. "Are you sick, Derek?"

A small warmth spread through Derek's heart at the honest concern in the sheriff's voice. "No. I'm fine, Mr. Stilinski."

"Well, that's good." He opened the photo album. "I couldn't find the Halloween book, but I found some pictures from the quiz bowl he entered a few years ago." 

"God, Dad, not the quiz bowl." Stiles sunk a bit in his chair. 

"Now, now, Stiles," Peter said. "Never be ashamed of your intelligence. Derek says your quick thinking and depth of knowledge are some of your best features."

Derek had never said anything like that, but he'd thought so a few times. If asked, though, he'd probably point to Stiles' adaptability as his best feature. It wasn't so long ago that the boy had been suspecting Derek of murder. Now, he was running his foot up and down Derek's leg, driving him absolutely insane.

"Thanks, Derek," Stiles said. His eyes twinkled and his foot continued sliding up and down a moment before giving a few light taps and retreating.

Now Derek owed Peter. Fantastic. Knowing his uncle, the bastard already had something in mind, too. 

"So then, tell us about this quiz bowl," Peter prompted. 

While the sheriff recounted Stiles' middle school victory, Derek stared at the few bites of food that remained on his plate and tried not to think about the warm itch that had infected his leg the moment Stiles touched it. He also tried to ignore the low, quiet snickers his uncle was sending from behind hands clasped in front of his no doubt smirking lips.


	5. Chapter 5

"I mean, I don't get it. She said she wanted to cool things off for a while, but I figured she just didn't want to deal with me being a werewolf and her dad being a werewolf hunter during midterms. Midterms ended last week. Why isn't she answering my texts?" Scott shook his phone then threw it onto his bed. "She won't even stop to talk to me at school. Know what Lydia said? She said Allison needs space to figure things out. What does that even _mean_?"

"Maybe it means she wants to think about if tying herself to a werewolf is a good life option. It's not the easiest decision in the world, you know." It would have been nice to have been given a decision. Allison didn't know how good she had it.

"I'm going crazy." Scott made a noise in his nose that reminded Stiles of a cat sneezing. 

"You're not going crazy," Stiles said, patting his best friend on the back. "You're just not getting any. Poor guy, back to being a sorry, scoreless schmuck like the rest of us."

"It's more than the sex," Scott sighed. "It's like…when she's there, everything is awesome. When she's not, I feel so empty and nothing can keep me from thinking about how she's not there."

"I'm dating Derek."

"What?" 

Stiles laughed. "That stopped you from thinking about Allison, right? I win!"

Scott grabbed Stiles' shoulder. "You're serious, aren't you?"

Stiles could almost see the wheels as they began to creep to life in Scott's brain. He punched lightly at Scott's shoulder. "It's a little more complicated than that, but yeah." 

"How complicated?" Scott leaned forward and sniffed at Stiles. "Now that I think about it, you two kind of…smell like each other."

Stiles chose to take that as a compliment since he rather liked the way Derek smelled, especially after he'd been running around in the woods for a while. "We're kind of…werewolf married. Well, not yet, but it's pretty much a done deal. Peter says there's a ceremony and Derek and I have to…do…stuff…but …don't look at me like that. You're a werewolf dating a werewolf hunter's daughter. That's orders of magnitude more bizarre."

"Than marrying Derek? Stiles, he tried to kill me! Twice!" Scott took a deep breath. "Okay, this is all because Lydia turned you down and got back together with Jackson, right? We can find you a new girl—"

"No," Stiles said, "you really can't."

"Why?"

"I _told_ you; it's complicated."

"Then explain it to me, Stiles!" Scott's fist impacted with the wall, sending plaster up in a dust cloud.

"Your mom's gonna be pissed about that." The laugh that followed was less mirth at Scott's future grounding and more an attempt to expel the butterflies in Stiles' stomach. "Okay. Explanation. There's a thing with werewolves where they sometimes have a predestined partner. So, let's say you meet this person and you somehow manage to get a claw or a bite in; that starts stuff down the road of no return. If the two of you are too far apart geographically, one or both of you will start to experience some…discomfort. If you don't get some kind of contact for a while, you start to get more discomfort. Derek says it goes away, but that isn't until you've done some kind of weird sex ceremony."

"Stiles—"

"And the best part is when you introduce your new 'boyfriend' to your dad and he threatens to throw him in jail. So now, instead of getting this crap over and done with, you have to deal with all the gut wrenching pain and nausea until you can legally screw the neurotic asshole that fate's decided you're going to be stuck with."

"Stiles—"

"And better is the fact that the neurotic asshole was lamely trying to build up his pack with kids from your school and, to be honest, you really don't want to deal with most of those idiots after graduation, so you told your little failwolf that you'd look into it for him even though you have _no idea_ what kind of person would make a good werewolf or how to approach someone about it once you finally _do_ decide you want them in your pack."

Stiles was dizzy from talking, but it felt good to get it all out in the air. He'd never really planned to keep things a secret from Scott anyway; the opportunity just hadn't come up.

"So…you haven't done it yet?"

Stiles reached over to Scott's bed, grabbed a pillow, and hit his best friend in the face. "I can't believe you just said that."

"What am I supposed to say?" Scott tried and failed to take the pillow away from Stiles. It was probably too hard to do while in the throes of side-splitting laughter. "You can't change it, right?"

"Has anyone ever told you that you accept things far too easily?" 

Scott shrugged. "I'm a werewolf. They weren't supposed to exist but they do. Same with your...thing with Derek." Scott shook his head. "Did it _have_ to be Derek?"

"Don't get me started," Stiles grumbled. "So…you're not joining our pack—"

" _Our_ pack?"

Stiles held up the pillow. "You want another mouthful of this?"

"Yeah, I bet you say that to Derek every day."

Scott's stupid werewolf reflexes saved him from Stiles' foot to his groin. "You're not allowed in _Derek's_ pack," Stiles corrected, "but you're going to help me find people."

"Why?"

Stiles grinned. "Because I have a letter from Allison in my pocket, and you can't have it until you agree to help me."

Scott scrambled to his desk and picked up a notebook and pen. "Okay. Let's make a list."

******

"Who are these people?" Derek asked, squinting at Stiles' list. 

"They're your new pack." Stiles pointed to the top three names. "These are the ones we recommend first."

"We?" Derek put the list down on Stiles' desk. "Who is we?"

Stiles started massaging Derek's constantly tense shoulders. "Me and Scott. Took us a while, but we sniffed out—I mean literally sniffing—a few that we think will work. See," Stiles pointed to the list, "we've spread their talents out and everything."

Derek sighed. "Fine."

Stiles spun the chair around. "Fine? What? No complaints? You're just going to go with it?"

Derek stood, picking Stiles up as he rose. Stiles wrapped his legs around Derek's waist; he'd learned it was the least awkward position when Derek decided to pick him up. Once, he'd let his legs dangle and accidentally kicked Derek in the shin. 

"You thought about all these names, didn't you?" Derek asked.

"Yeah." Stiles was having a really hard time concentrating. It was probably just his imagination, but Derek had been looking particularly good of late. Whether that was a personal preference or a bit of biochemical brainwashing, Stiles didn't know, but he didn't particularly care anymore.

"Then it's fine. You're not an idiot. I trust you to pick good candidates." Derek set Stiles down after placing a chaste kiss to the top of his head. "You can leave the rest to me."

Stiles grabbed onto Derek's shirt when he realized the man meant to leave. "Hey, you just got here."

Derek took a deep breath. "Stiles, tomorrow's the full moon. I need to go." Derek's fingers moved at his sides and his knuckles cracked. "It's not safe right now."

"You think you'd hurt me?" It was strange, but the possibility of Derek hurting him hadn't crossed his mind in a long while. 

"We're taking it slow," Derek said, "like glaciers."

The problem was that Derek kept talking in that low, rolling way, and it made Stiles' insides funny. That was the reason he would give himself tomorrow when he was thinking properly again. It was all Derek's fault that Stiles was feeling strange and warm inside, and it was Derek's fault that Stiles grabbed him by his belt buckles and shoved him toward the bed. When Stiles crawled on top of Derek, it was clearly an alien taking over his body.

"You know," Stiles said, fingers skimming Derek's clothed chest, "with global warming the glaciers are melting. They're probably moving a lot faster."

Derek grit his teeth. "Stiles."

"Derek." In the small corner of Stiles' mind not consumed by the swirling need building inside him, a spark of sanity reared up. "Not all the way," he whispered into Derek's ear before biting it. "But far enough that we can stop hurting for a while. Think you can manage that?"

Derek growled and flipped them. His eyes flashed red. "Let's find out."

******* 

"Oh my god!"

Stiles woke up at the sound of Scott's cry. "Shut up," he mumbled at his friend before burrowing into the warmth beside him. When the warmth curled around him and he realized the warm thing was Derek and Derek was wearing very little in the way of clothing, Stiles jumped to the side, almost tumbling off the bed.

"I can't unsee this," Scott whispered, his hands rubbing at his eyes. 

"Oh, shut up." Stiles sat up. He turned toward Derek, who was snickering. "You're not helping, either."

Derek's fingers tickled at Stiles' hip. "You're cranky when you wake up."

"Look, there's an actual emergency going on, can you not…do whatever it is you're doing?" Scott was still covering his eyes. "And put some clothes on."

"He's embarrassed," Derek whispered. "He thinks we're naked."

Scott's hands fell. "You're not?"

Stiles threw the blankets off the bed, revealing his Spiderman boxers to the world. "We're not," he told Scott. 

"Oh. Uh, sorry. I just thought—"

"You mentioned an emergency?" Derek jumped out of the bed and moved about the room, collecting clothing. He threw a few pieces to Stiles, who winced when he saw the hole Derek's claws had made in his shirt. 

"There's been a murder," Scott said. "It's…it's Allison's mom."

"What? What are you doing here? Shouldn't you be there with her?" Stiles stumbled a bit as he hopped into his jeans.

"I can't. Stiles, one of us did it. Allison and her dad won't even look at me." Scott paused then looked at Derek. "They think it was you."

"That's ridiculous!" It really pissed Stiles off that people would just assume Derek murdered people. Sure, he wasn't the most socially adept, but he wasn't an evil bastard who ripped people up for fun.

"We need to get down there," Derek said, placing his hand on Stiles' shoulder. "If there's a werewolf out there killing people, we need to stop it."

Stiles nodded. "I'll drive."

"Good. I'll call Peter." Derek grabbed Scott's arm. "You need to be prepared. There's a possibility the werewolf was just defending himself."

"The Argents aren't like that!"

Derek's shoulders stiffened. "Some of them are."

Stiles didn't even think before moving to press himself against Derek's back. "The ones that hurt you are dead now," he whispered into Derek's neck. "You know that Allison's parents had nothing to do with it, right? Now, some nutjob is running around our neighborhood and killing people. We need to get our asses in gear and take care of it." Stiles drew back and delivered a smack to one of the asses in question. "Let's go!"

"I did not just see—"

"Shut up, Scott."


	6. Chapter 6

There was little Derek could do but watch as Stiles and Chris Argent got into a screaming match in front of half the town. They were both careful not to use the words 'werewolf' and 'werewolf hunter,' but they managed to substitute every other possible obscenity in their place. Scott tried to break them up a few times but gave up when Allison shook her head and led him away. 

"And, anyway, he wasn't even here when this happened," Stiles yelled, gesturing to the chalk outlines of Mrs. Argent's remains. 

"You can't prove that," Mr. Argent said, pointing a finger at Stiles. He was going to lose that finger if it came any closer.

Stiles stalked over to Derek and, before Derek had a chance to register what was going on, yanked Derek's shirt up. "He was a little busy." Stiles opened his mouth and pointed from his teeth to the imprints they'd left in a ring around Derek's right nipple. Derek still didn't know why they hadn't healed; he'd ask Peter about it later. "You wanna get a dentist to match them? Would you like a play by play?"

Derek broke free of Stiles' grip and pushed his shirt back down. "Stiles," he growled, "that's enough." It was more than enough; Stiles' father was looking murder at them and stroking his handcuffs. Everyone else on the scene was silent. Derek cleared his throat and approached the man he'd often wished would meet a fate similar to that his wife had just met. "We'll help you," he said, looking into Mr. Argent's eyes. 

"I don't need help from someone like _you,_ "

Beside him, Stiles tensed. Derek held him back with a hand to the shoulder. "Whatever's running around out there is a threat to all of us. It's in our best interest to work together." The words tasted foul on his tongue, but Stiles had been right; this man hadn't been the one to murder his family, and Derek was going to need to change things if he wanted a peaceful life for himself and his future pack. 

Mr. Argent and Derek stood in the strobe of police lights for what felt like hours before Chris nodded. "I'll think about it."

Derek nodded back. "You know how to reach us." He turned away from Mr. Argent and toward the sheriff.

"Derek," Sheriff Stilinski said. "Busy night?"

Stiles slid in between Derek and his father. "Dad, it's not as bad as it looks. Derek was doing some work on that leak in the bathroom and, uh, I fell. He caught me."

"We didn't," Derek said to the sheriff. 

"You better not have," Sheriff Stilinski said, his voice calm despite how hard his heart was pounding in his chest. "Now, go back to the house and wait for me in the living room. Both of you." He paused before adding, "And sit on opposite sides of the couch. No more _falling_. Is that understood, Stiles?"

"Yeah, fine," Stiles sighed before looking around and finally seeming to realize everyone was still staring at them. "Okay, folks, the show's over. Murder and a movie is done for the night; you can go home." He made a shooing motion. 

Derek quietly walked to the Jeep and climbed into the passenger seat. He couldn't help smiling at the knowledge that, by the time the sun rose in a few hours, the whole town would know that Stiles Stilinski was now his. The joy of it was almost enough to mute the feeling of dread at the thought of their upcoming talk with Sheriff Stilinski.

*****

"You just need to tell him the truth; all of it," Peter said, pacing back and forth in Stiles' living room. He was waiting there when they arrived and, after Derek and Stiles verified that Peter hadn't been the one to kill Mrs. Argent, the three of them had settled in to await the sheriff's return.

"You know that that's not an option right now," Derek said. 

"Why?" Peter asked. "It certainly won't be a simple option—I imagine the screaming and death threats will be spectacular—but it's the fastest way to clear things up with father-in-law and maximize your resources for hunting the rogue."

"I can't believe I'm saying this, but Peter has a point." Stiles scrunched up his nose and glared at Peter. "And stop with the in-law stuff."

"He's so feisty," Peter snickered, flashing a smile to Stiles. He turned to Derek. "Be careful, though. I understand he bites."

Derek groaned and sank onto the couch. At least Stiles hadn't lifted up his own shirt. If he had, Mrs. Argent wouldn't be the only body in the morgue. "We need to focus. He'll be home soon," Derek said. He reached out and dragged Stiles across the couch until they were sitting with their sides pressed against each other. He didn't loop his arm around or bury his face in Stiles' neck as he wanted to, but the contact was necessary if he was going to be clearheaded enough to get through the night.

"So, we tell him about the furry business but not about our thing, right?" It wouldn't take a werewolf's senses to smell the apprehension rolling off Stiles.

"We need to tell him everything," Derek said, ignoring Peter's look of triumph. "If he knows about us, he can help the investigation. Having him on our side will make things go smoothly." Derek gave in and reached up to trace his thumb across Stiles' cheek. 

"Children," Peter warned. 

Derek lowered his hand. Stiles shot Peter a glare then tapped Derek's ankle with his toes.

"If he knows about us," Derek continued, "he'll support us."

"He already does."

"No," Derek sighed, "he doesn't. He tolerates it because he loves you, but he wants to kill me. He thought about shooting me tonight."

"You said telepathy didn't exist. You holding out on me?" Peter made a choking sound. Stiles threw a sofa pillow at him. "Well?" he said when Derek took too long to answer.

"Telepathy _doesn't_ exist," Peter broke in. "Protective fathers with firearms are fairly simple to read via basic cues."

"Meaning?"

"Meaning he was talking about shooting me under his breath while we left," Derek said, patting Stiles on the leg. That leg had a nice little trail of red across the thigh from Derek's claws. It was nothing major and would fade by the following night, but seeing his marks on Stiles' body had been one of the most satisfying moments of his life. Knowing that, due to their bond, Stiles was now immune to his bite and his claws, Derek had been given a level of freedom he'd never experienced before. Judging from the way Stiles had thrashed about, begging for more, their future was going to be—

A pillow hit Derek in the face.

"Focus, Derek," Peter scolded, though he was more laughing than reprimanding.

"Someone is dead, there's a killer running around, my dad wants to shoot you, and you're just sitting here thinking about sex? I can't believe this." Stiles hit him with the pillow again. 

Derek was going to say that Stiles wasn't fooling anyone and that he wanted their time together as much as Derek did, but the sound of a car pulling up stopped him. "He's here," Derek said. He and Stiles scrambled to opposite sides of the couch while Peter struck a pose in Mr. Stilinski's armchair. The moment of truth was at hand.

*****

The Spin Thrifty Laundry Mat was quiet in the moments just before dawn. The Spin Thrifty had been Derek's laundry mat of choice since the fire, and the cheery 1970's muzak was strangely calming on his frazzled nerves.

"That went well, I think," Peter said while rubbing a Shout stick across the blood on Derek's discarded shirt. 

"He shot me." Derek pointed to the spot on his abdomen where the sheriff's bullet had entered. The skin was smooth and healed, unlike the various marks Stiles had left. Peter kept looking at them and snickering. Derek needed to buy more shirts.

"If you would've let me do the talking, then you wouldn't have gotten shot." Peter clucked his tongue. "Did you really think changing and snarling at him would prove your point?" He tossed the shirt into the washer along with Derek's jeans which were also bloodied. "I suppose it did get your message across, however ineptly executed."

"Why aren't these healing?" Derek asked, pointing to Stiles' marks.

"I haven't a clue," Peter grinned, "though I suppose it's, what did Stiles call it, werewolf voodoo magical nonsense?" He pushed in some coins and came to stand next to his nephew. "You'll have to settle for healing like the poor humans when it comes to Stiles' little affections, I'm afraid." He patted Derek's naked knee. "I'm sure you'll get used to it."

"He agreed to work with us," Derek said. 

"Of course he did. He's a man of justice." Peter's lips quirked into a smile. "And I'm sure he'll come around where you and Stiles are concerned. If not, I could always…convince him."

"Peter."

"I'm a master in the arts of persuasion. I did debate in high school and college." Peter straightened his coat. "State champion. _But_ we have more important things to discuss. Floor plans, for example." He pulled a piece of paper from his pocket. "I spoke to Stiles and we both think a more open living and dining area would be good. We'll just take down a few walls, nothing too difficult." He passed the paper to Derek.

"The house is fine."

Peter put a hand to his heart and sighed. "Yes, Sheriff, entrust your only son to me. I swear to take care of him and provide for him for the rest of his life. You can even come visit us. Our house is over there, the big black building that was condemned for lack of structural integrity." 

Derek winced. "It wasn't condemned."

"It was!" Peter laughed and pulled another paper from his pocket. "Last week, while you were playing at the Chateaux Stilinski, I invited a lovely gentleman from the county over to survey the house for building permits and the like. I asked for his phone number and he gave me this decorative sign for the front door instead. I was very disappointed in him."

Derek glanced over the paperwork. "Peter—"

"Does it bother you that a scrawny little human is more alpha than you are?" Peter asked, interrupting Derek's attempt to tell Peter to keep his nose out of Derek's life. "It must. I can't imagine the sting one might feel while a werewolf hunter is accusing you of murder and all you can do it stand there, dumbfaced, while a little slip of a human goes toe to toe with the scary hunter, rescues you from the law, and claims you in front of the town and local news cameras."

"There were news cameras?"

"As I was saying," Peter patted Derek's knee again, "it must be humiliating. Perhaps you'd like to regain your sense of scrotum by providing a decent life for the boy who fearlessly saves your ass on multiple occasions."

Derek opened his mouth to argue that he was capable of saving himself, but Peter silenced him with a finger to his lips.

"You may choose the color of the carpet. Stiles will choose the paint. You may both go to the furniture store and choose the other items together. Use the time to…bond or something." The washer beeped. "Good. Now that that's out of the way, put these in the dryer while I go get us some breakfast."

Derek quietly obeyed, his mind still five minutes back in the argument and attempting to process both Peter's words and the events of the night. Mechanically, he threw his clothes into the dryer, adding an extra dryer sheet to counteract any stiffness the stain stick and blood might have given to the fabric. His shirt (his favorite, too) was likely ruined, but the jeans were still good, if possibly blotched. Maybe he and Stiles could go shopping later that afternoon, once Stiles had slept and the sheriff was at work. 

Grinning, Derek took out his phone and started a text.


	7. Chapter 7

"I don't know which is worse, you shooting Derek or the fact that nobody in the neighborhood thinks hearing a gunshot is a reason to call the police." Stiles glared at their front door. "Nobody's getting Christmas cookies this year. They didn't even come over to see if we're okay."

Stiles' father was seated on the couch, elbows on his knees, face buried in his hands. "I can't believe this," he mumbled into his palms.

After one last look to the door, Stiles went to sit next to his dad. "Look on the bright side; stuff makes sense now, right? I mean, not all of it, but those freak crimes all have causes now."

"That I can't tell anyone about."

Stiles wrapped an arm around his father's shoulders. "It's better than not knowing."

The sheriff nodded his agreement. "So…about Derek."

"He isn't killing anyone."

"Not the murder, Stiles. The…other things." The sheriff's face paled. Peter had been painfully graphic in explaining what Stiles would have to do in order to cement his bond with Derek.

"Can we not talk about that?"

The sheriff took hold of Stiles' arm and waited for his son to face him. "It hurts?"

Stiles shrugged. "Sometimes."

"How badly?"

Stiles stopped and thought about it a moment, trying to find a way to describe the sensation. "You know how it feels when you skin your knee? How you can ignore it sometimes and then others it's all you can do not to cry because the pain is spreading out and your leg hurts like a bitch? Right now it's kind of like that." He took a deep breath. "After a day or so it's that and maybe a few good kicks in the stomach every hour or so." Stiles shuddered at the memory. He and Derek were careful not to let it get to that level anymore. "It's nothing I can't handle. Don't worry." He patted his dad's knee then rose off the couch. "Want something to drink? Beer?"

"I want to go to bed," Mr. Stilinski sighed. "But we've got one more thing to clear up, so sit back down." When Stiles was back on the sofa, he continued. "I trust you to do what's right for you."

"Dad, I—"

"Don't interrupt. I'm not going to say any of this twice. I don't even know how I'm going to say it once."

Stiles nodded. "Sorry."

"I don't want you hurting, so if…things happen, then it's fine. I don't want details, and it's not a free pass to go crazy but, given the circumstances, I won't send Derek to prison." Mr. Stilinski let out a long sigh. "I'm going to bed now."

His father was halfway out of the room before Stiles was able to react. "Dad!"

"Goodnight, Stiles."

"I won't let you down," Stiles said, holding his father's gaze.

"You never do."

******

"Open your eyes."

Stiles opened his eyes and took in…a warehouse. When Derek said he had a big surprise, a textbook perfect zombie spawn point wasn't what Stiles had in mind. "Are you starting a railroad?" he asked when Derek just stood around looking pleased.

"It's for training," Derek said. He walked over to a pile of scrap metal.

"Training. Right. Training for…"

"Us."

Stiles turned at the familiar voice. He watched as Erica, Boyd, and Isaac walked forward. It was great that Derek was going by the list but…

"Is leather a werewolf requirement?" Stiles asked Derek. "Not that Isaac's leather pants aren't awesome, but this could totally break the bank if we get too many more people." Did Derek even have a job? As far as Stiles knew, creeping around town was Derek's full time occupation.

"Derek says you're the one who recommended us," Erica said, moving forward.

"And I also said no touching," Derek growled, pulling Stiles behind him.

Stiles rolled his eyes and stepped around Derek. "Explain to me how this tetanus trap is for training."

"How about I show you?" Grinning, Derek took off, leaping and swinging around the room before landing next to Stiles. "Survival is about agility and speed," he told the three new werewolves. "Before you go home tonight, you will each complete the course I just demonstrated."

Isaac raised his hand. "Is this going to take long? Tomorrow's Monday, and I've still got homework to do."

"Then you better learn quickly." Derek gestured to the training course. "Get to it." 

While the others began training, Stiles and Derek sat down at a wooden spool masquerading as a table. The rusty folding chairs added to the illusion. "You know," Stiles said, "when you said you had a surprise, I was hoping it would be that you found the murderer or wanted to go to a movie or something."

Derek frowned. "You don't like them?"

All movement stopped. Stupid werewolf hearing.

"They're awesome, and we need them." The training resumed. "We also need to help find the murderer before someone else gets killed."

"You can't catch a murderer in 48 hours, Stiles. Peter's looking into it."

Well _that_ sure made Stiles feel a lot better. They could all just rest easy now, couldn't they? "I also had some stuff I wanted to talk to you about. Private stuff." He wasn't about to tell Derek that his dad had given them an all clear for sexy times, but he wanted to at least let Derek know that he wasn't going to go to prison.

"We'll talk after this."

They both turned as Boyd collided with a wall.

"I should get home soon and get dinner started for dad." There was no way Stiles was going to let his dad come home to anything less than a healthy dinner and a cold beer. The guy was awesome and understanding beyond reason, and Stiles wanted to make sure his dad knew that, whatever weird crap was going down, family came first.

"I'll come by later." Derek's hand landed on Stiles' arm and squeezed. Their eyes met, and the noise in the room stopped.

"Did you guys not Tivo the big broadcast?" Stiles grumbled. "Have you not had your fill? By all means, gawk and gaze at the power of our boyfriendhood. Get it while it's free because next week we're selling tickets." God, school was going to suck in the morning.

"It's cute," Isaac said with a shrug.

"Besides, aren't you kind of like our parents now?" Erica grimaced as though she wasn't sure how she felt about that.

"I don't want to watch my parents do any of that stuff." Boyd turned back to the course. "Let's finish this and go home."

When the training had resumed, Derek pulled Stiles closer. "I'll take care of this. You take care of your dad and see if Scott and Allison found any leads." He leaned down and growled into Stiles' ear. "I'll see you tonight."

The stupid grin on Stiles' face was because of werewolf voodoo and not because he kind of liked the idea that Derek would be coming home, however briefly. "Night, kids," he called before heading out to the Jeep. A chorus of farewells saw him out.

*****

"I think, if we really put our minds to it, we can make this even more awkward," Stiles grumbled.

"No," said Chris Argent, "we couldn't."

"And here I thought you were an ambitious guy." Yes, good, keep talking so the creepy werewolf hunter in his living room would spit out what he wanted to say and leave before Derek was done with training. If Argent was there when Derek arrived, there was likely going to be a rumble. If there was a rumble, there would be blood and gunshots. While the neighbors didn't give a damn about it (apathetic bastards), Stiles would rather not have a small war break out in his house while he was trying to make dinner.

Mr. Argent was still and stiff on the sofa. "Are you being forced?"

Stiles could come up with nothing snappier than, "Huh?"

"Derek. Is he forcing you?" Mr. Argent met Stiles' eyes. "If he is, I'll take care of it for you."

On the one hand, it was really nice that Mr. Argent was concerned for Stiles' wellbeing. On the other, it was annoying that nobody thought Stiles could take care of himself and that the only reason he and Derek were together was because Derek was threatening him in some way. Sure, Derek wasn't really the best catch in the universe, but the universe said that he was Stiles' catch and there would be no discussion on the matter. Stiles thought he'd done a really remarkable job of adapting to the cavalcade of crap the world had thrown at him in the last few months, and he wasn't about to have anyone throwing their pity at him disguised as good intentions.

"Nobody's forcing me to do anything." Except fate, weird werewolf magic, and whomever decided that making high school education compulsory was a good idea. "You may find this hard to believe, but Derek's not such a bad guy once you get past the lack of social skills, the sarcasm, the mental trauma, and…other stuff."

Mr. Argent seemed to consider this for a moment before nodding. "Good."

"Have you found out anything about the murder?" Stiles asked in a bid to change the topic. "I tried to call Scott, but he didn't answer his phone."

"I see." Mr. Argent's jaw moved as though he were grinding his teeth. "Allison is out tonight."

Well, crap. Nice way to calm the guy with the guns down. "They're probably looking for information. We're supposed to meet at lunch tomorrow to share, so I'm sure that's it. Do you want a drink?"

"Water."

"On it." 

Stiles considered himself a connoisseur of the hasty retreat. He gave his mad dash to the kitchen a full five stars. He neither tripped nor ran into anything. He even managed to return with Mr. Argent's water without spilling any of it. 

"She was going to the grocery store," Mr. Argent said after drinking half his water down. "She fought, but she was overpowered. Whoever did it stole her wedding ring." 

Stiles was amazed the glass didn't break in Mr. Argent's white-knuckled grip. "Look, I know you're not so cozy with the idea of getting help from us, but we're all on the same side here." He dared to put his hand on Mr. Argent's shoulder. "When Scott started to do the whole werewolf thing, I was pretty sure he was going to kill me. Then, when he didn't, I started to get used to it…until Derek came along, and I was pretty sure he was going to kill me." 

"What the hell are you saying?" Mr. Argent took a drink while Stiles tried to remember what his point was.

"I'm saying don't think of werewolves as the big, nasty, furry things. Think of them like people who fate screwed over, people who have to be extra good because all the shitty stuff inside them sometimes shows on the outside, too." Stiles paused. "Did that make any sense? It didn't make sense, did it? Okay, I'll try again—"

Mr. Argent raised his hand. "Don't." He ran his fingers across his chin and sighed. 

"We're on the same side is what I meant to say, only I wanted to say it a little bit cooler, but I guess that didn't really work out. Story of my life." Stiles looked to the clock. "Listen, I've gotta get started on the food or it won't be done before Dad gets home. If you want to talk, we'll have to do it in the kitchen."

Mr. Argent rose from the couch. "I've got other things to do."

Stiles debated his next words while Mr. Argent walked toward the door. "Hey," he called to the other man's back, "take care of yourself."

Mr. Argent turned, his hand on the knob of the front door. "I'm not the one you need to be worrying about," he said before leaving, the door shutting silently behind him.


	8. Chapter 8

"Everyone is staring," Allison whispered, her eyes darting nervously around the cafeteria.

"That's because we're giving them our best Jets impression." Stiles gestured around the table but paused when everyone stared at him, their mouths slack with lack of comprehension. Derek got the reference but wasn't willing to admit it. Musicals made you look weak. "Come on, guys. The Jets. West Side Story." Stiles snapped rhythmically then threw up his hands. "Useless, all of you."

Derek gave Stiles' knee a squeeze under the table.

Scott cleared his throat. "It might also be the guy at the table who's clearly not a student and clearly here to cop a feel." Scott point to a few gawkers. "Not the best move for the first day back after your big coming out."

" _You_ try getting rid of him," Stiles grumbled. Under the table, his knee collided with Derek's.

"I wanted to check on everyone. Being around these many people and this much noise can overload your senses so close to your change." Derek took in his new pack members one at a time. "If you have any problems, I want to be close."

A throat cleared behind them. It was the damn lacrosse coach. "McCall, emergency co-captains meeting." He gave Derek a nod. "Hale."

Derek nodded back but couldn't, for the life of him, remember the guy's name.

"Finstock," he heard Stiles whisper.

"Finstock," he said. "I'll see you on the field. I was just getting to know your co-captain."

Finstock turned green. "Good lord, isn't one enough?" he mumbled, no doubt thinking Derek couldn't hear him.

Derek was surprised when Stiles smacked the table and stood. "Got a problem, coach?"

"With you? No. With some sports safety inspector from the damn board of education? Yes. Come on, McCall, we're wasting time."

When Finstock was out of earshot, Stiles smacked Derek on the shoulder. "Safety inspector?"

"Argent called me yesterday, said it would be a good idea for one of us to be around." He shrugged. "It fit my needs, so I agreed."

Isaac grimaced. "Why do I get the feeling we weren't part of those _needs_?"

Boyd laughed and clapped Isaac on the shoulder. "Jealous?"

"Want us to find you something warm to play with?" Erica whispered. Derek was just glad she was spraying her pheromones in a direction other than Stiles. He'd already warned her once. Another infraction, and he'd have to hurt her. Derek was pretty sure Stiles would be upset about that.

"It's a one day arrangement. Argent will be here tomorrow."

Allison turned toward the conversation. "My dad's coming? Why? How?"

"Because the rogue is after Argents, not just any targets. I found some things." He didn't want to elaborate in public. "I'll explain later.

"Guess that explains why you didn't come over last night." Stiles kicked Derek's ankle. "And didn't call. Like an ass."

Boyd shook his head. "Not cool, man."

"Dump him," Erica told Stiles. "You can do better."

Five seconds before Derek was about to jump across the table and rip some faces off, the group erupted in laughter. 

"She's worried." Isaac's voice was low and hard to filter through the din of the cafeteria. "She should be home mourning. Her dad told her to come. They wanted to lighten the mood. No offense."

Derek met Isaac's eyes and nodded. "I have to work," he said. "Meet at the training field tonight and I'll brief you." He turned to Allison. "Bring Scott."

"Better idea," Stiles chimed in, waving his hand to get attention. "Pizza at my place. Bring chips or soda. The big guy and I'll take care of the pies."

"Stiles." Derek was not pleased to have his orders ignored.

"Four rusty folding chairs for seven people in a drafty warehouse or central air and couches. Not a hard choice to make." Stiles' eyes drifted to Allison.

"Fine," Derek sighed. "I'm going." He got up and headed for the staff room, wondering how he was supposed to impersonate a sports safety inspector and if such things actually existed.

******

"Let's get this clear," Finstock said while they waited for the players to come to the field. "Stilinski isn't on the bench because he's gay; he's on the bench because his playing is crap."

Derek looked at the clipboard in his hands. The forms looked real. Maybe he should check some boxes. "I'll be sure to make a note of that."

"We have plenty of gay guys on our starting roster. Danny! Did you know he goes to that club in town? Gay as they get, Danny, and he's a freaking all-star on the field. That's what I need, Hale. All-stars."

"You go to this club often?" Derek looked over the field, saw no holes, and checked the box to indicate the grounds were in good condition.

"Nononono! I was just passing by a few times, saw him."

Derek looked up because Finstock's heartbeat was too loud for him to ignore. "I'm not concerned about your personal habits, Finstock. I'm only interested in safety." He caught the man's eye. "And your little secret will be safe, I assure you."

"Stilinski's a damn fine player. Damn fine."

Derek ticked off the boxes in the 'superior quality' column. "Lovely practice grounds you have here, coach. I assume your players stretch and warm up properly?"

"Always." Finstock's face was green.

"Then I think we're done here." He tapped the clipboard against Finstock's head. "Good luck with next week's game. I'm looking forward to it." He left while Finstock tried to slow his breathing back to normal.

*******

"It's like a scout jamboree," Peter laughed. It would be their luck that the sheriff would invite Peter over for dinner.

"It's a meeting," Derek said. "I'm telling them what I found yesterday."

"And then we'll play truth or dare, yes? I loved a good game of truth or dare when I was their age."

"Who's he?" Isaac asked, pointing to Peter, who swooped in and looped an arm around the boy's shoulder.

"Think of me as a pack advisor; the older, wiser uncle devoted to making sure his nephews don't make horrible, deadly mistakes with their little band of misfits."

"Nephews?" Erica asked.

Peter grinned. "Well, one nephew and an almost in-law. I didn't want to play word games."

Stiles snorted. "And when the full moon comes, you turn into a swan." Stiles paused. "There aren't any of those, are there?"

Derek smiled. "No."

"Can you imagine a wereswan? It would look all quiet and elegant, then it would open its beak and have these razor sharp teeth." Stiles opened his mouth and used his fingers to imitate teeth.

"Stiles," the sheriff scolded. "Focus."

"Sorry." Stiles sat back on the couch next to Scott. "You get it, right?" he asked his friend.

Scott nodded. "I get it." 

For a moment, there seemed to be words transferring between the two friends. They smiled at each other, smacked one another in the arm, then settled.

"Manners, Derek." Peter's hand landed on Derek's shoulder and he realized he was growling and his eyes had shifted.

"There were several animal kills in the forest," Derek said, plunging into business. "The rogue's hunting for food which means he or she isn't attacking humans for hunger."

"There haven't been any missing persons reports, and no additional deaths have been reported," Sheriff Stilinski added.

"So that means that he targeted my mom." Allison wrapped herself around Scott's arm and he pulled her close.

"Argent's out scouting now. He'll join us here when he's done," Derek said. He took in all the group with a move of his hand. "I want a member of my pack with the Argents at all times. Peter and I will handle Mr. Argent; the rest of you stay with Allison or watch the perimeter if Scott is with her."

Scott nodded his acceptance of the plan.

"The funeral's tomorrow," Stiles said. "We should make a plan."

"We have one," the sheriff said. "Due to the nature of the murder, I'm able to station a few men as guards."

Peter straightened his posture and walked to stand next to Derek. "Additionally, Derek and I will patrol. Scott, you will sit with the family."

"Erica, Isaac, Boyd, you'll be positioned in the crowd," Derek added. 

"What about me?" Stiles asked.

"You stay home where it's safe," Derek and Mr. Stilinski said together.

"That is such species discrimination. Need I remind you who saved your sorry ass the last time something like this happened? Me. The time before that? Me again! I'm not sitting this one out."

"You'll stay home if I have to handcuff you to something," the sheriff said.

Derek did not appreciate the knowing look his pack was sending him or Peter's low chuckle. 

"You wouldn't dare," Stiles hissed, standing.

"Try me," the sheriff said, taking out his cuffs and dangling them.

A chime sounded and Derek turned to see Scott with his phone out, pointed toward Derek. He tapped the screen a few times and Derek heard Stiles' phone vibrate in his pocket. Unable to threaten Scott's life in the presence of an officer of the law, Derek stalked to the kitchen. "I'll get the pizzas," he hissed. They would all pay for their laughter later.


	9. Chapter 9

"How is this my life?" Stiles asked the dim room around him. As soon as he was free, he was going to kick someone's ass.

While his dad had been joking about the handcuff thing, everyone actually had left Stiles at home because, clearly, they wanted the crazy lady to find him, use her super speed to knock him out, and then tie him up in some basement somewhere. 

Why did it have to be a basement? Just once, couldn't the kidnapper make up a nice, bright room somewhere?

Stiles tugged at his bonds.

"Don't try to escape," his captor said. She drummed her nails on a small table. "I don't want to hurt you, but I will if you try to leave."

"The whole punching me in the face thing that happened earlier? Don't know if you're aware, but that totally falls under the 'hurting you' category."

She shrugged. "You're alive."

Yeah, he was alive, bruised, and felt like his organs were burning. "Where are we?"

"Safe."

Debatable. "Safe from?"

"The hunters." Her lips curled up to reveal pointed teeth. "They've tricked your friend's pack, just as they tricked mine." She looked Stiles in the eye. "They came and slaughtered us in the night. Men, women, children—all of them. I was visiting a sick friend. I came home and they were all dead." She shook off a few tears. "I've hunted them down wherever I went. I heard there was a new alpha here from an old family, damaged by hunters. I didn't think he'd already been fooled by them." She smiled. "Don't worry. I'll save you."

"There just aren't any happy, sane werewolves, are there?" Stiles shifted his weight. The ropes around him seemed to loosen a bit. It looked like someone didn't finish the knots badge in her girl scout handbook.

"They'll give me the hunter and the girl for you, then you will have peace here."

"You're seriously overestimating my importance. I'm all human, not furry on the inside like everyone else." It was a little lame that humans were now the minority in his social circle. If the others were more competent, he might even be tempted to feel inferior.

"I know what you are," she said, pointing to the TV. "There is only one way those wounds would have remained." A sigh. "I had someone special once." She drew her claws through the wood of the table. "They killed him, too."

"Well, maybe you'd like to know that I'm getting kinda nauseous over here. I think it's a concussion." The nausea was less concussion and more the image of Derek ever becoming like this crazyass. It was way too easy to see it.

"You'll be fine."

There was a clock on the wall, and Stiles passed a few minutes watching the second hand move. The funeral wouldn't even be over for another half hour. If he could just get this lady to go somewhere else, he could make a break for it.

"So how, exactly, is this big trade going down? They find your little note, call you, and you take the Argents then give them my location?"

She blinked. "Yes."

"That's a pretty good plan. How do you know it will work?"

Stiles did not like her smile in the slightest. "I've had practice."

The acid burn in Stiles' stomach started to swirl. Derek was getting closer.

A beeping filled the room and the woman flipped open a laptop. "Someone's here," she said. A few keystrokes and the beeping stopped.

When had she had time to put up motion sensors? Just how long had she been stalking the town? On second thought, it didn't really matter because she was getting up to leave.

"Don't worry," she said as she left. "You're safe here."

Stiles waited a full minute after he'd heard a door close to start wiggling his arms around, trying to get free. He wanted to say something snarky about learning basic skills before becoming a kidnapper, but he bit his tongue. The last thing he needed was for crazy lady to hear him mock her, turn back, and kick his ass.

As quietly as he could, he headed out.

*****

Stiles did not expect the crazy lady's base to be in the next county over. No wonder he was getting the 'get your ass back to Derek' sicky feeling. If he was right, there was a road nearby. If he was wrong, he was going to get horribly lost because his phone was at home and the boy scouts kicked him out before he could learn orienteering—not that the stars would help him during the day in a forest.

"Stiles!" Scott ran up, Allison behind him. Stiles had never been so happy to see that crossbow.

"I am so sick of getting kidnapped by crazy people," Stiles said. "This lady has problems."

"Lady?" Scott's eyebrows pushed down. "It's a girl?"

"She's not a girl; she's concentrated ladywrath with claws. Also, that was sexist. Women can be crazy killers if they want to be." He turned to Allison. "Please don't become a crazy killer. I was just trying to make a social point."

Allison didn't even seem to be listening. "I hear something over there. Let's go."

Scott took off, loping through the woods. Stiles tried to keep up with Allison, but she began to pull ahead just before they reached their destination. The crazy lady and Derek were standing off. Erica, Isaac, and Boyd circled them. Derek's eyes flicked to Stiles and then the fight began.

"I was going to hold you here," Derek said. "I've changed my mind." He howled and Scott and the pack moved in, leaving only a step for their opponent in either direction. "Nobody hurts him."

"I didn't!" The crazy woman sounded so sincere. If Stiles' face weren't still stinging, he'd feel a bit worse about her obvious terror.

"Pretty big bruise," Erica snarled.

"Hard to get one of those without a little bit of hurt," Isaac growled.

"Um…guys…we're not going to kill her, right? I mean, a black eye isn't really—" Stiles trailed off when Derek turned to him, eyes glowing red.

"Scott. Take Stiles home. We'll deal with this."

Scott took a deep breath and slowly started to shift back to human. "We can't kill her, Derek."

A shot rang out at the same time an arrow whizzed through the air. Allison and Chris Argent walked up to the fallen werewolf. When she moved, Chris shot her again. "You don't coddle a rabid animal," he said. "You put it down."

Derek and Chris stared at one another for a long moment. Stiles had no idea what kind of manly agreements they were making, but he knew they were making them; they even shook hands at the end.

"We're going home," Derek said. He held his hand out and Stiles took it before his brain kicked in to remind him that he was taking the hand of a guy who was going to kill someone for giving him a black eye. Also kidnapping him. Okay, maybe the crazy lady deserved it a little. 

"Where's dad?" Stiles asked, looking around. 

"He's on his way to help take care of cleanup. We need to be gone before he gets here." Chris Argent gestured to his car sitting down the road. "Get in." The fit in the back of the vehicle was tight. Stiles wound up sitting half on Derek and half on Boyd for a mile or so before Derek grunted and pulled him all the way into his lap. Swaddled in warm, sweaty werewolf, Stiles slept the rest of the ride home.

******

When Stiles woke up, he registered two things. One, he was in his bed. Two, his bed was significantly colder than he wanted it to be.

"You're awake," Derek said from a corner of the room. He was hunched down and pressed back against the wall.

"And you're hiding in a corner why?" He knew from the way Derek's eyes were roving over the bed sheets that the corner was perhaps the last place Derek wanted to be and, honestly, the possibility of dying a virgin at the hands of a crazy chick out in the forest had given Stiles a new outlook on how he wished to proceed in his relationship with Derek. 

Derek closed his eyes and took a slow breath. "It's better this way." 

"Better in what way, exactly?" 

Derek's fist impacted with the wall, earning him another weekend of shirtless home repair while Stiles ogled. "Prison, Stiles." 

Well, damn. "Dad said to forget about that." Stiles waved his hand in the air as if the motion could dismiss the thought's very existence. "He said a lot of heroic dad stuff, mostly about how—"

In the movies, a man flying into his lover and sending them both crashing to the bed looked sexy. In reality, it hurt like a bitch. 

"Sorry." Derek gave his apology while shredding Stiles' shirt to bits. The shirt was never one of Stiles' favorites.

Stiles kicked off his pants while Derek nibbled at his collarbone. "Just so we're clear, we're doing this because we thought it through and have both decided our relationship is mature enough to encompass the ultimate in physical intimacy."

Derek grunted and yanked open the bedside stand. "So…we do it facing each other?" he asked as he warmed the lube between his fingers. The digits had made a few exploratory trips in the past week or so but had yet to do any true investigating.

Stiles smacked Derek across the top of the head before using Derek's neck like a handle to lift himself up nose to nose. "It goes without saying that, because I'm letting you do this, you're stuck to me forever and I'll have Argent cap your ass if you think otherwise. And he'd do it, too. He offered."

There was a stretch of silence while Derek pushed Stiles back onto his back and devoured his tongue. "After tonight," Derek said, "all of you is mine." He ran a clawed hand down Stiles' side. "All of you."

Stiles arched into the touch and smiled. Another breath and speech was beyond him.


	10. Chapter 10

"Take it out."

"I can't." Derek tried, once more, to remove himself from Stiles. Everything had been wonderful, like a dream, until the rush of orgasm was over and Derek tried to roll off of Stiles only to hear him scream out in pain. "It's…swollen or something." He tugged again. 

"Cut it off. It'll grow back."

Derek snarled, though it was considerably harder to feel like a tough alpha wolf with his genitals trapped in another man's ass. If the sheriff came home before they figured things out, Derek was going to prison. It didn't matter what the man might have promised Stiles; nobody came home to another man stuck in his son and didn't press charges. They needed to find a solution. Quickly. "Where's your laptop?" 

"Why?" 

Even with his legs hitched around Derek like a pretzel and his arms crossed over his chest in the bitchiest pose Derek had ever seen, Stiles was glorious. 

"What the hell are you thinking?" Stiles hissed. "I swear it just got bigger." He reached up to smack Derek but fell back, the wind somehow knocked out of him. "Hey…uh…can you…move a bit?"

Derek grimaced. "We need to figure this out."

"Yeah, yeah. I'm sure it's some kind of werewolf venereal disease or something, but you need to tilt up a bit." Stiles cleared his throat. "It's, uh, more comfortable that way."

Derek did as instructed and lost another thirty minutes as he devoted himself to Stiles' comfort.

******

Derek would rather die before he asked Scott McCall for help.

"Hey Scott, does your dick get all huge and weird when you and Allison do it?"

Stiles, on the other hand, had no problems dialing up his best friend while Derek was still lodged awkwardly in his rear. Granted, every time Derek felt the swelling might be going down, Stiles did something and they wound up rolling around and making the problem worse.

"Uh, no reason. I was just wondering." Stiles frowned and shook his head. "I don't care if it's late. You're my best friend and I'm undergoing post kidnapping stress."

Derek laughed and, in doing so, shifted. There was no way Scott would mistake the sound that came from Stiles' mouth for any kind of trauma and, while Derek knew Stiles and Scott had never been a thing and would never be a thing, a small part of him rumbled in delight at the idea that Scott knew who was pushing those cute little sounds out of Stiles.

"Okay, we did it and his freak penis got all huge and is stuck. Happy?" Stiles moved his phone away from his ear and glared at it a moment. "Before you say anything else, I'd like to remind you who's been covering for you and Allison. You say one wrong word and the fiery hells of retribution will be yours to wallow in." Stiles gave a satisfied nod. 

Derek wondered if, given the situation, it would be okay if they went for another round. Stiles looked kind of sexy when he was bathed in smug.

"I swear to god, Derek, I really will cut it off if it gets any bigger." Stiles frowned. "Shut up, Scott. Just get your ass on the internet and figure this out. It's been like this for an hour and my dad's going to come home soon."

Derek tried to find a position that didn't tweak either of their backs while they waited for Scott. They would have done the research themselves, but they'd abandoned the trek to the desk for Stiles' laptop three times after excessive movement distracted them from their mission.

"I don't know what keywords to use. Figure it out yourself." 

Derek managed to situate them so Stiles was straddling his lap. He nuzzled Stiles' neck, taking in the glory of their mixed sweat. Stiles began to squirm on his lap. "I don't think that's going to help us," Derek whispered.

"No, Scott, we're not having sex while I'm on the phone with you. Stop freaking out and keep searching." 

It was a good thing heartbeats didn't register over mobile devices. 

"I don't mind staying like this a little longer." Derek bit into one of Stiles' nipples and earned one of Stiles' heels to his kidney.

"Found something?" Stiles listened intently. "It's been like this for an hour. I don't think it's going to go away on its own." Stiles blushed. "Well…no. I guess we didn't try that. Yeah, yeah. You can stop laughing now. Bye." Stiles hung up and threw the phone across the room. 

"Well?" Derek rubbed his fingers into the knotted muscles of Stiles' lower back.

"It should go back to normal in ten or fifteen minutes." Stiles bit his lower lip and groaned. "If we're good and stop fooling around long enough for your freakish dog penis to chill out." He sighed. "Looks like the weird werewolf voodoo took over your junk. If I somehow get pregnant and have ass babies or something, we're breaking up. I'll puke every day for the rest of my life; I don't care. You'll never touch me again."

Derek fell back in a fit of laughter while Stiles sulked. Ten minutes later, Derek was composed enough not to snicker every time he looked Stiles in the eye, and his lower anatomy finally relaxed enough to allow Stiles to cross the room, grab Derek's phone, and send a very hostile text to Peter, whom Stiles was sure knew about everything all along.

******

Both Sheriff Stilinski and Peter had far too much to say about cabinets and which ones Stiles and Derek should choose for the house's remodel. Derek's stance on cabinets was that they were good. They held food and medical supplies. Having cabinets was definitely a plus. Stiles tended to agree with Derek's assessment, though he did request they buy the cabinet handles shaped like medieval weaponry. Derek vetoed the bow and arrow handle for personal reasons, but didn't mind the others.

"Oak is the only sensible choice," Peter said, giving Stiles' father a look that generally meant he was about to shred the person he was talking to into bits.

"And you would be the expert on sensible," Sheriff Stilinski said.

Stiles cocked his head to the side and Derek followed him out of the aisle. "I'm hungry," Stiles said. "We're going to Taco Bell."

Derek grimaced. "No. We're going to Dos Hermanos." He wasn't a big fan of Mexican food, but Dos Hermanos made some good carne asada burritos. 

"They take too long. Taco Bell has a drive through." Stiles crooked a thumb back to their bickering relatives. "It'll take them at least an hour to get the cabinet thing settled, and they haven't even started in on the bathtubs and toilets yet." There was nothing subtle about the way Stiles was eyeing Derek's crotch.

"We all rode in together," Derek said, attempting to be responsible. He had to put up at least a small bit of resistance because Peter was likely listening and would mock him for crumbling so easily to Stiles' very attractive suggestion. 

"We can be back in two hours, easy." 

Derek had given his token resistance; he was done. "Let's go."

******

"What's wrong with him?" Erica whispered to Isaac while pointing at Derek.

"Stiles is grounded. No visitations, and booty calls get Derek landed in prison again." It was obvious from the lilt in his voice that Isaac was trying very hard not to laugh in Derek's face. 

"That's tough," Boyd said, looking at Derek with what seemed to be true sympathy. "How'd it happen?"

"The topic is banned," Derek declared. Stiles was out of bounds for a month. Peter, ever ready to share his wisdom at the wrong moment, informed the sheriff that, due to the cementing of their bond, Stiles would no longer be in pain if they were separated, so the sheriff had no problems ordering Stiles to stay away from "distractions" for a month as punishment for ditching him at the Home Depot. Peter said it was petty retribution because Mr. Stilinski lost the cabinet debate.

"Does this mean we're getting extra training?" Erica asked, again whispering even though it did her no good.

"Probably," Boyd said. He rolled his shoulders. "What're we doing tonight?"

Suddenly three pairs of expectant eyes were on him, and the flopping bit of self-pity that had been nagging at Derek retreated, consumed by the need to protect and train his pack. When he'd changed them, he'd made a promise. He promised them their new lives would equip them to deal with the problems they'd been born into and keep them safe from ever having to go back to the lives they'd been freed from. It was time to make good on that promise and, when Stiles could join them again, they would be that much closer to being a whole, healthy, and strong pack.

"Tonight," Derek said, taking in the three who would be the building blocks of his future, "we hunt." 

 

THE END


End file.
